


A Minor Consequence of Immortality

by randomcanbian



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Children, F/F, Family, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomcanbian/pseuds/randomcanbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura and Carmilla's daughter learns about the latter's existence before the scheduled reveal, in a truly awkward manner. They decide to give her The Talk over dinner the following day.</p><p>(There are complications to raising a family with an immortal 18-year old that no one had warned Laura about.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Minor Consequence of Immortality

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends i've been thinking about the consequences of "laura living with carmilla but staying human" for weeks, and people have written about laura at her death bed (because this fandom loves angst so much i am in a constant state of pain), but no one really focuses on the in-between? 
> 
> i woke up at 4:20 am and "blaze it" was my first thought; the next was that i should just write the aging!laura immortal_teen!carmilla myself since it looked like no one else was going to and i needed to placate this nagging need
> 
> (PS there's a section where i just gush about carmilla because i am so infatuated with natasha's stupid face okay just letting you know)

“Mom, you’re gay right?”

Emily comes busting through the kitchen door, dropping her bag on a chair as soon as it’s in reach. Briskly, she walks up next to you and takes a swipe of the apple pie filling you just finished making before turning back to the island and depositing herself on the chair next to her bag.

“Talk about hygienic, Em. Please tell me you washed your hands before tainting my amazing pie with your grubby fingers,” you say, as you prepare the pie crust. You don’t know if she can see it from where she’s sitting, but you make a face.

“And yes I am incredibly queer, which I’m positive you’ve known since you were three.”

“Of course I washed my hands mom, I’m putting that in my mouth later,” she says, to which you roll your eyes. You think that if you turned your head now you’d find her licking the filling off her fingers.

“Anyway,” Em continues, “you’re a lesbian, so that means it wouldn’t bother you if, hypothetically, your eldest daughter also liked girls.”

The rolling pin stops in your hands as a smile grows on your face (LaF would call it a shit-eating grin but, you know, po-tay-to po-tah-to). Turning your head, you see Emily looking at you with anticipation.

“Are you telling me my little Emmy has a crush?”

She groans. “Gods, mom. But I guess that means you wouldn’t mind, huh?”

“I wouldn’t mind honey, of course,” you say, wiping the flour off your hands with an apron before sitting in the chair across Em. Your cheeks are starting to hurt from grinning too much, but you can’t stop because _your baby is going to tell you about her first high school crush you are so excited._

“So, anyway…” you prompt.

You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from squealing because Em is _flustered_. She has her head tilting down so her bangs are covering her eyes, and her lips are jutting into a little pout. You can even catch the pink beginning to tinge her cheeks.

“It’s just, it’s really weird I guess? Like I don’t even know who she is?” she begins, and your smile dims a little because you’ve had your share of unrequited crushes, and you just hope Em’s not going to do anything embarrassing (because you’ve had your share of embarrassing crush-induced moments, too).

“I’m pretty sure she’s an upper classwoman, because I really can’t imagine her the same age as my doofus batchmates. _Anyway_ , I…” her sentence peters out, and she looks up from under her bangs to give you a look before putting her face in her hands.

“Sometimes I think I catch her staring at me?” she says uncertainly, looking at you between her fingers, and yup that is definitely a crush.

“Really now?” you prod her, and your grin’s smaller (because your poor cheek muscles), but it’s just as smug, if not smugger.

Em nods. Her hands are back on the table, and her gaze is directed towards a corner of the kitchen, unfocused.

“Sometimes I’m in the library and she’s there too, a couple of tables away, and there were like five times when I looked up from my book and caught her looking my way? Or when I’m in the caf with my friends? And like the bleachers? Almost everywhere around the school, actually?”

“Really now?” you ask seriously, maybe with just a hint of concern. Emily is a lovely, lovely girl (and you’re not saying that just because you’re her mother) and you wouldn’t be surprised if someone at her school did, in fact, start crushing on her, but when it comes to a strange, older student following your daughter, well, you’re entitled to your suspicion.

“I swear,” she says, “I’ve been trying to frame it every way in my mind, but I can’t really—I can’t really see it as anything else? Which is the weirdest thing, because she’s insanely pretty.”

“Honey, don’t put yourself down,” you say, your brow furrowed, because really. “You’re beautiful, Em.”

She snorts. “It’s not about that mom, I like how I look. It’s just, this girl’s like really, really freaking beautiful. Think part-veela, Aphrodite’s-got-nothing-on-her beautiful.”

“Ugh,” she adds, putting her face in her hands once again. “She could literally have _anyone_ , mom. I’m just a freshie.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “You sure it’s not just the crush talking, kiddo?”

Em shakes her head with fervor, which makes you laugh a bit. Ah, young love.

“Why don’t you put that Hollis blood of yours to good use and describe her for your old dear mom, what do you say?”

She glares at you. “Seriously mom? Have you ever tried writing down anything about your crushes?”

You give her a guilty little smile.

“Your real people fic. Right,” she groans, putting a hand to her face. “No wonder I’m weird.”

She sighs. “Anyway, I’ll just. Describe her. To you. And in exchange, you’ll have to convince me not to do anything embarrassing in front of her, okay?”

“Deal,” you say.

(You feel a little guilty, because the first chance you get—and after you background check this mystery girl, of course—you’d be pairing them up and basically trying to get them together. Once a shipper, always a shipper. Sucks for your daughter.)

“Alright,” Em says, chin resting on her right palm. “So, um, she has really nice black hair? I can tell that it’s silky and smooth, even from a couple of tables a way. Ha. Anyway, um, it’s wavy, and she usually lets it down, and she’s really—it’s really pretty on her? But sometimes she puts it up in a bun, and like I guess it’s supposed to look messy but like, it looks really great on her?”

She slowly closes her eyes. “And I guess, she has amazing bone structure. She has these cheekbones and this jawline and like, I guess you’d call them sharp? Or angular, or—or something. Yeah. It works really well with her—aesthetic, I think you call it, like she wears a lot of black, sometimes white. Like her whole thing’s usually an achromatic theme, like you’ve got the clothes, and then there’s her hair, and like she’s really pale? Did I tell you that? Not sickly, but like she doesn’t go out that much. But it really works for her. It really, really does.”

Em sighs softly.

“So yeah. That, coupled with really thick eyeliner—which still looks great on her, it’s so unfair—I don’t really know what she’s going for? Sometimes she’s punk, sometimes she’s goth, I guess? Gosh, I don’t know, but like, tough, intimidating exterior?”

She opens her eyes, and gazes at nowhere in particular.

“But sometimes, I’d see her in my peripheral vision, and she’d be looking at me? And a lot of times it’s…I don’t know, really soft and gentle.”

Emily pauses, then goes on for a bit more, but you’re only half listening. You’re too preoccupied with this mix of disbelief and amusement; it’s all you can do not to laugh out loud.

In short, you’re pretty sure who the mystery girl is.

“Does she wear leather pants a lot?” you ask, after Em’s finishes talking.

Her eyes focus on you, and a little frown forms on her face. “Yeah, um, at least once a week I guess? Why do you ask?” she replies.

You shrug.

(You’re not going to tell her just yet.)

“Ask her if it’s real or synthetic, would you? I have to prepare myself if one of my daughters happen to start dating someone wearing processed animal skin.” (You try not to make a face at the latter statement.)

“Mom,” Em says, glowering at you.

“What?” you reply innocently.

“Our deal, remember?”

“Remember not to do anything stupid in front of her, Em,” you say, brightly. She makes a face at you, which gets you to chuckle.

“Seriously though,” you add, because Em has no idea yet why crushing on that girl in particular is all kinds of weird, and because you want to be a good mother to your baby girl, “exploring your sexuality is healthy and normal especially at your age.”

“Which I’m sure you’re well aware of, judging from all the talks I’ve given you and Dana over the years,” you add, before Em can interrupt. “But more importantly, for this situation at least, don’t think yourself unworthy of anyone’s attention, okay kiddo? There might be other reasons why some mysterious girl keeps gawking at my eldest daughter, but if you find out she likes you, then she likes you. No need to come up with ‘reasons on why she can’t possibly like you’.”

You almost laugh, because you learned this from crushing on the _exact same girl_. It’s effing ridiculous.

Emily purses her lips and looks thoughtfully at you. “Theoretically I know that but like, in reality? It’s hard not to second guess if a girl like _her_ tells you she likes you.”

“That’s true,” you nod, “but if the way she acts doesn’t say otherwise, you have to get rid of your doubts and actually believe what she’s saying. Trust me, I would know.”

 _I would know_. Effing. Ridiculous.

But it’s true. And Em seems to be giving it some thought.

“Okay,” she says, nodding attentively. “I guess all that’s left is to see if she _does_ actually like me, huh?” A small smile forms on her lips unknowingly, and oh god you can only imagine the look on her face when she finds out.

“That’s my girl,” you say, smiling. Warmth blossoms in your chest. You love her so much. “Now go away, you whipper-snapper. Mom has to finish the pie, or Dana’s going to have a fit.”

Em makes a grimace as she slides off her chair.

“She’s such a baby. I mean, she’s a year old, but still.”

She exits through the kitchen door taking her bag with her, and you walk back to your pie crust. You begin rolling it flat once again, but not before shaking your head.

Carm’s totally not going to believe this.

 

///

 

You’re reading a book in bed by lamplight, in preparation for your next interview, when you hear someone tapping on the window. A look at the clock lets you know that it’s 7:53 in the evening, and good, she’s seven minutes early.

As soon as the window opens you throw a couch pillow (which you brought with you just for this) at the figure entering. You catch the momentary look of surprise before she deftly catches the cushion, preventing it from landing outside.

“I can’t believe you stalked our daughter at school!” you incredulously exclaim.

“I don’t stalk her! I just check on her from time-to-time!” she quickly defends. The surprise at your knowledge turns into a look of suspicion. “Wait, how did you find out?”

You get out of bed to walk to where she’s standing, because you really need her to see you rolling your eyes. “Em noticed, you dingo. Probably for a couple of months, judging by what she’s told me. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Ah shit,” Carmilla says, running a hand through her hair. “Shit, did I creep her out?”

You take a deep breath. Your brow is furrowed but your mouth is fighting a smile, because really you don’t know whether to laugh or to be weirded out.

 _“She has a crush on you. Our daughter has a crush on you. Do you know how weird it was for me to hear her talk about you like that?”_ you whisper loudly. Anything other than a whisper, and you’d be laughing, because gosh you didn’t sign up for this.

The look on Carmilla’s face is priceless, and a giggle escapes your lips. She glares at you, which just makes the giggles evolve into silent, shoulder-shaking laughter, and she just drops on the bed with a hand to her head with you laughing quietly as you follow her. It’s still really weird, but not as weird as it could be you guess, since Em’s not blood-related to either of you.

(Not that you’d support anything between you and Em aside from a mother-daughter or friend-friend relationship because no. Just, no.)

(Anyway, Carmilla’s taken. By you, specifically.)

(You’re 28 and she’s 343, trapped in the body of an 18-year-old girl, but you’ve talked and you’ve cried about her immortality and your aging body and, for now at least, the two of you are at peace.

For once, you just want to laugh freely.)

She turns to you as you sit next to her. “I suppose the plan to let her live in relative normalcy until adulthood bit us in the ass, huh?”

“Bit _you_ in the ass, you mean. I didn’t mind telling her that her other mom’s a vampire—I actually preferred that since she’d actually get to know you growing up—but you were so adamant about it.” You try to keep the annoyance out of your voice because, really you’ve talked a lot about it. Fought over it, even. And you know that she regrets the decision at times, but she still firmly believes it’s for the best.

“Imagine what rumours that’d spread if the neighbourhood realized there was a girl living here who never grew older. We’d have to move houses every couple of months, and that would be exhausting, physically and emotionally for her. You know that. It’s better this way.”

She’s right, you both know, but it really is all so unfair for her.

You punch her lightly on the shoulder. “You’re so selfless, it makes me sick.”

She smiles at you, her gaze soft and loving (it’s still so very weird, but with her looking at you like that, you really can’t blame Em).

“You’d have to blame this girl I met. I’d give up anything for her.”

Your heart swells with love. You reach to take her hand, saying, “You know just what to say to a woman, don’t you Karnstein.”

“I have my ways,” she replies with a smirk, and it takes you back to one of her first attempts to woo you. It’s hilarious, in hindsight (bar the trapping and starving thing, which years from now you are still guilty for). Gods, you can’t believe you were that oblivious.

You chuckle, causing Carm to quirk an eyebrow at you. “Nothing,” you say, shaking your head. You’ll tell her later, maybe. But for now, you need to talk about important matters.

“So what do we do about Em?”

Carmilla groans, leaning back until she’s lying on the bed. “There’s no use in keeping me a secret now, is there?”

“Reveal tomorrow night at dinner?”

She purses her lips. “That’s as good a plan as any.”

You kiss her forehead, before crawling onto the bed and into the sheets. “And we can talk then about what happens after.”

“After?” she asks, twisting her head to look at you.

“Matters similar to, I don’t know, you finally living in this house—something we both want to happen but you’re too self-sacrificing to allow, maybe? She’s sixteen, she can comprehend the consequences of whatever we plan to do. And maybe she’d be able to convince you to live with us.”

She sighs, before crawling into the space next to yours. “I absolutely loathe it when you’re right, cupcake.”

“I know,” you say, turning off the bedside lamp. “It makes being right even more satisfying.”

You sidle closer to her, the top of her head level with your shoulder, your arm around your waist. You’ve always wondered why it’s been easier for her to sleep at night, what with the whole nocturnal creature thing going on; turn out she’s probably exhausted from stalking—sorry, _checking up on_ —Em all day long.

You sigh. You love this stupid vampire so much.

You’re a few slow blinks away from slumber when Carmilla’s whisper reaches your ear. It’s so faint, you can barely hear it.

“She’ll like me, you think? Em, I mean.” She pauses before adding, “I wouldn’t blame her if she was scared of me.”

It hurts you a lot, to hear how timid her voice is. The girl in your arms has been battling demons for centuries, demons you pray you’ll never have to meet, and you know that one of the largest is the fear of loving someone terrified of who she is.

“I know Em almost as much as I know you, and I know that she’ll love you,” you whisper back. “She’ll love you, and she’ll be proud, of having such a brave, loving, self-sacrificing vampire as her mom.” You put your lips to the back of her forehead. “I promise you.”

Silence follows, and you wonder if she’s fallen asleep. But then she squeezes your hand and says, “I hope you’re right.” Her voice isn’t as timid as it was, so you’re satisfied that, for now, your murmured promises are enough.

You fall asleep with your fingers intertwined.

 


End file.
